


A Spark In The Dark

by Zoebirb



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Grillster, I'm here to provide, M/M, This fandom just lacks this ship, This is NOT a crack fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoebirb/pseuds/Zoebirb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grillby notices an energy that constantly follows Sans, and doesn't think much of it until it begins to linger in his bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for Zalgo text- if you can't read it, don't worry! There's nothing really essential to the plot in the first chapter. The second chapter is much more readable.
> 
> Excuse the poor formatting, I'm on mobile.
> 
> (EDIT: This is unfinished, and never going to be updated. Left the fandom a while ago, sorry y'all.)

A little bell rang as the door pushed open, echoing off the hardwood floors and walls of Grillby’s. The candles throughout the pub were already extinguished, though it was still dimly lit by Grillby’s head, leaning over one of the booth tables. Sans approached him with a few shuffles of his slippers, slapping a skeletal hand across the poor guy’s back. Grillby jumped, scattering a few papers.

“Looks like you're booked,” he quipped, gesturing to the notebooks on the table.

Grillby straightened his vest. “Counting up the numbers..” His voice was always a deep sigh, though today Sans could tell something was a little off. He let out a small ‘heh’, “Don't get cold on me, buddy.” He settled in on the opposite booth, leaning over a little so he could look at the books. “..Business wasn't so hot today?”

The only response was a slow, but efficient sizzling noise. Sans chuckled. “Alright.” He sat back and proceeded to swing his feet a little. “But what gives? This place is usually packed like a box of matches. It's the only place to eat… besides Pap’s spaghetti stand.”

“Something came.”

Now, that caught Sans’ attention. His grin lowered slightly. “Whaddya mean?” Who could have come to disrupt business? Surely the child hadn't fallen yet… the town would have been abandoned. Papyrus was still up and chattering about. “Who came, Grills?”

The giant flame flickered slightly. “Not sure. It got cold.”

“It's always cold here.”

“No, no. Different.” Grillby raised a hand and waved it, as if that was going to help him think of what to describe it as. “Distant… shadowy.”

Sans’ grin lifted nervously. “I’m sure it was nothing, bud.” Well, hopefully it was nothing. He wasn't sure what to make of it. He reached over to pat the poor guy’s arm. “..Give it a few days. Maybe the customers had things to do.” He bit back another pun, simply letting out a single ‘heh’. Sans carefully slid out of the booth, slapping Grillby on the back a final time. It still somehow made the flame jump, even though he saw it coming.

“Hey, Grillby..”

“Yes?”

“Lighten up.” He chuckled at his own joke, shuffling back out of the bar again. Grillby remained huddled over the papers for a moment before closing them. Well, the loss wasn't big enough to affect the bills. For now. But this was unacceptable. A little breeze of cold air passed his face, making him… shiver, of all things. And then.. a voice. It was soft and static, as if there was a bad reception in the air.

“"̖̮̖̼̉̔̔͝.̟͓̱͈̉̀̾̕.̤̰͍͍͑͐͐̀.̨͎̟̪̓̔͝͝I̡͎͓͚͆̈́̋̏ ̭͚͕͈̽͒̑̀ṭ̹͔̟̀̀̆̉h̭̮̟͉̓̋͑͌i̪̮̜̜͛͆̒̕n͈̙̘̣͛̅͑̓k̠̬̠̗̃̒̈́͝ ̦̭̝͔̍͊́̚y̢̤̺̞̾̅͆͛ö͔̝͚́̍̈́͊͜u̼̯͎͕͂̽͆͋'̨̯̲͓͒͛̈̚ŕ̨̠̦̪̽̆͆e͔̗͙͎̐̈͘̕ ͈̟̖̤́̔̈͝b̡͇̼̖̈́̽̈́̕ṟ̨̨̓̃̈́͠ͅi̢͎͍̣̒̊̈́̄ǵ̨̥̼̪͐͆͌ḧ̠̘̦̮̍͐̆t̥͔͖̅̓̈́͂ͅ ̤̱̟͕̽̀͂͝e̜͈͎̤̓̐̓͛n̼̥̘͛̄̎̕͜o̧̟͔̤͂̂̃͝ȕ̢̩̟̯̀̈́͒g͖̥̬̅̋̂̈́ͅȟ̠̟͎̞̐̎̀.̢̳͚̱͂̔̋̌.̞̝̗̀͐̕͘͜.̻͚͚̠͌͆̏͠"̢͇̰̳̂͑̅̕”

It sent another chill down his back. Not wanting to play into his own imagination, Grillby promptly stood and retreated back to the kitchen to finish cleaning.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

He was more intuitive than most- being silent for most of the day meant he could listen and watch. It allowed him to see when a customer was down and offer them a favorite drink on the house, and it provided him many opportunities to catch bits of gossip when the patrons didn't notice him hanging around. This also meant that Grillby was more sensitive to some of the unsettling things that the everyday monster didn't notice.

It started out fine enough. Sans had lived in Snowden for a long while after suddenly showing up with his brother. He was a pretty good customer, except for the constantly running tab and the mysterious disappearance of condiments. It was worth the loud jokes and the quiet comfort that the friendship offered. But something was always a little off about the skeleton man. Something around him. Grillby had thought first that maybe it was some soot on his glasses, or an odd shadow cast by the light.. but the glow of his own body would have scared any normal shadow away. This one lingered.

It made him wonder what Sans was hiding.

 

A long while passed before he realized it might not have been Sans’ secret alone. Whatever it was, he wasn't responsible. It didn't follow him all the time…

It started hanging out at the pub.

It wasn't very noticeable, and it would never be there if you looked. Grillby simply began catching it in the corner of his eye or feeling a light breeze pass through. The windows were firmly shut. Thankfully, the shadow wasn't menacing- it didn't seem dangerous in the slightest. People would just get chilly in a certain bar stool or table and move to a different spot. He started leaving an extra few lights on as he cleaned up, so as not to leave it abandoned in the dark.

 

The next week, he began to notice that if he left his lunch untouched a little too long while he worked, things would go missing. A few fries here, a bite of a burger there. It was usually the fries that went missing. After hours, he'd look out into the seemingly empty pub. Something would flicker in his peripherals. He'd turn and, feeling extremely silly, ask out loud, “...Are you hungry?” No response. He left a basket of fries out, with a little side of ketchup.

The next morning, the fries would be gone. The ketchup wasn't touched.

And so it went for a few weeks after that, a silent agreement that the shadow wouldn't frighten off any customers and Grillby would set out some food for it. Every so often he’d casually leave something new on the counter to see if it liked it. The balance lasted another few weeks, until some of his patrons started to become uneasy. A few of the regulars came less and less.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

Grillby pushed into the kitchen with a huff, causing the flames on his head to flicker a little higher. He was still unnerved by what he’d just heard at the table. Surely it was just his own imagination. It wouldn't be the first time his conscience had kicked in to offer a little word of encouragement. Another part of him was gently reminding him that it definitely came from an outside source. He rolled up his sleeves and started to scrub at some of the dishes. Hot steam rose and drifted through the kitchen as he washed them, water colliding with the heat of his hands. It wasn't enough to extinguish Grillby entirely- his limbs weren't part of the core of his being. He was just sure to stand up straight enough that not too many drops of water splashed on his head.

A cloud of steam shifted next to him. He didn't look. Whatever it was, it could wait.

"̠̯̘̫̘̝̬ S̱o̸̠̜̭͌ͯ̑̏r̖ͨͦ̾̀r̭͓̹̟̿̒̂ͮ͛͌̓͟y͚͚̤͕̳̎̃́͌̊̒̽.̐̄̋͑̉͊͊́"͓͙̭̱̦͋͛̀̎͒ “

The rasp came and went like a passive thought, and Grillby acted like he wasn't very impressed. Truthfully, this terrified him. This was the kind of horror story you heard about around campfires. He went to set the last plate on the drying rack, moving to carefully turn off the water. Before he could remove his hand, though, he felt pressure… real pressure. A chilling, heavy weight.

The feeling hit him suddenly, making him force his hand away in a recoil. He took his own hand, squeezing it. Yes.. it had felt like that. He took a few steps back. He was a being of magic. Physical things could touch, him sure, but usually only if he was focusing on it. Nothing had ever made him feel so… solid. Grillby’s flame paled to a yellow. What happened? “What are you?” The normally monotone voice had broken slightly. He glanced around in an attempt to pinpoint the shadow’s exact location, clutching the hand to his chest. 

 

"̦̗͚̘̰͍ͫ̾ͮ̔̌ͧ̋ͬ͠G̷̮̰̟̗̗̳̗͕̔̐ͤ̑ͧ̓͂̿̇͢å̧̝̣̌͐ͩ̀͜s͔̹̜͕̠͇̺̞ͧ̈ͧ́̀t͕͔̤͐̉̒͒̾ͥ͊ͭ.̖͙͖̝̎.̲̱̗͉̠͕͌ͨͩ͋̎̈́̽̀́.̤͈ͨͥ̀ͯ͂̏ͤ́̚͢͡ȩ̵̗̱̝̩̬͓̜̩̲ͬ̋͟r̩͕͒́ͧ.̬̝͇͖̤ͥ̄̐̈͂̓ͪ́ͅ.̺̼̭̭̖̫̩̬̿"̴̸̞͙͌̒̉̂͒

 

He couldn’t understand what they… it… they were saying. Grillby shook his head. “Get out of this establishment,” he sizzled. His fists flared up.

 

"̥̪̘̦̘̪̺͚̉̓͒͊ͫ.̻̱͖̟̮̬̹͙͂̆͌͊.͈͍̫͇͋́̋͐.̠͔̜̱͍̬̖̖ͭ̃͑G̜̼ͦ̏̏ͩ̿å̺͕̺̎́̂s͍͎̲̟͚̩͔͓͐̂t͓̜̓ͣͯ͐̓ͩ́e̝̤̙͙͙͉̘ͦͮͬ͛̔̑̏ͅr͚͚̀̄̓̾.͔̳̪͚̭̞ͧ́.̰̻̰̚"͈͍͈̝͈͔̜̖̆̀ͮ̓

 

It came through a little clearer this time. If he had a mouth, he’d be frowning. “I don’t know what that means.”

 

"̤̻̩ͣͬ̓ͤͭ̑͆ͨ̽.̰̣̓̍.̪͙̰̗ͤ̓ͤͥͯ.̹̬̤̗̈ͣM̗͍̺͇͂̒̓ẏ̮͈͖̪͗͛͊ͤ́ͯ͂͋.̱͔̖͙̬̹̯̪̆̓ͭͨ̌.̘̖ͫ̿.̯͙͙ͣͮ̇ͦ̇.̼̙͇̤̯̩̟͖̾ͅ.̲̦͈̫̥͚̳̲͑̂ͯ̓̇̉͊n̟͍͕̱̗̾ͩ͐͌͋̿̇͂͑a̱̘̻͚͓͛̄̋m̲͔̠̣̼̗̞̟̍ͥ̽ͧ̀ͨe̗̳̳̮̘͕̋̾̃͑ͣ.̮̤̩̰͔̃ͥ͌.̲̭̞͙͚̀̾̒͌͂ͧ̆ͧͩ"̞̻̣̖͖̘̣ͪ͋ͤͩͣ̾ͫ

 

Grillby didn’t understand it. He simply stomped his foot down. “Get out!” He heard what sounded like a gasp and a sigh, run through a bad radio transmission. He only had to look away for a moment before the shadow was gone. He glanced down at his hand, clenching it slightly. There was still a tingling sensation from the touch… he sighed and moved to take off his apron. Perhaps he just needed sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad you guys liked that one! I'm so happy this ship is catching on
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry again for the lack of tabs before paragraphs. I also tried to make the zalgo text as minimal as the generator could make it.

Grillby was idly wiping a cup behind the bar, turning it over and over in his hands. He’d been at this for nearly a half-hour, calmly surveying his customers. It was noon and the few monsters hanging around had already been served, so he didn't have much else to do but stand here. A few days had passed since the ‘incident’, and a majority of his regulars had stopped by to hang around for some drinks. Quite a few of them made passive comments about how it was a lot warmer in the bar again. Good. Business would be just fine.

He felt a little twinge of guilt, though. The food he left out had gone cold this morning, untouched. He shook his head a little. If having that thing- whatever it could be- around meant losing business, he literally couldn't afford it. He had his daughter at home to take care of and a business niche to fill here in Snowden. But it still irked him that perhaps he had shouted a little too loud that evening. He was usually in control of his temper, as difficult as it was sometimes. He rarely got like that. 

Grillby set the glass back down on the counter, about to pick up another one when he felt something touch his hand. He flinched, and the feeling went away. Was that...?

He placed his hand on the counter, palm facing up like an invitation. There it was, the brush of something against his fingers. And then he could feel a large hand resting there, weighing down on his hand. It felt.. skeletal? Or at least something similar, with some of the middle missing. He shuddered. It was definitely cold- much colder than anything he’d even experienced in Snowden. The intensity of it made Grillby’s flames flicker in excitement. 

The fingers suddenly curled around his and squeezed, which was a much more solid touch than he’d just experienced. He’d never really felt anything like this before and his head was in a whirl. He was a being of magic, not matter, and nothing had been able to make contact so… firm. Grillby had to lean his weight on the counter for support. He squeezed the hand back testingly, expecting to pass right through it. No.. no, he didn’t. A thumb gently brushed the back of his hand…

Grillby would’ve fainted right then and there if the ring of the door’s little entrance bell didn't interrupt his thoughts. The hand retreated just as he pulled his away, standing up straight and regaining his composure. He finished straightening his vest just as Sans reached the bar to take a seat.

“Hey bud,” the little skeleton man was grinning, suspicious and/or tired as usual, “Two orders of fries, please.”

Grillby didn't even ask why he needed two if there was only one Sans. He just retrieved the order, returning with no less than two bottles of ketchup.

“Thanks.” Sans took no time in immediately squeezing the ketchup directly into his mouth, no fries to accompany it. “Got some business back, huh? Ever found out what happened?”

He got a simple shrug in response. “Didn't pay the heating bill..” A good enough excuse. Sans didn't believe him, of course, and Grillby knew this. But neither of them would say anything about it. The skeleton nodded, practically shoveling fries into his mouth.

He picked up another glass and the cleaning rag, gently wiping away whatever dust was in it. For the rest of the evening, he could feel something occasionally tugging at his shoulder.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

Once the last monster was out of the bar, Grillby got around to cleaning up, piling dishes in the back and sweeping the dust out of the front door. He had felt the presence lingering around a little stronger than usual this time, mostly near him. It had stopped making the area so chilly and somehow managed to fill it with a cool energy. He wondered if it was happy, mad, or something else entirely. 

He was still so buzzed about the hand that any other questions hadn’t really registered yet. Important ones like if this thing was dangerous, and what it even was in the first place. All he knew so far was that it could touch him.. and it was brought here by Sans. Something about that last bit made him wonder if the small skeleton was up to something.

Grillby halted his sweeping as something flickered in his peripherals. He looked up, glancing around. Nothing. He continued, closing and locking the front door once he was done. It began warming up in the pub again once the frigid winds were shut out. He hung up the broom, returning to the back kitchen once more. No one else ever worked back here, but he didn’t serve up much food except for fries and the occasional burger. He liked the cooking; it was something to do with his time.

He rolled up his sleeves, looking around to decide on his next chore. He took a step forward, only to immediately run right into an invisible wall in front of him. Grillby scrambled back, raising his hands up. “Wh-!” He looked up, only to be greeted by a flickering image of what he could only assume was another monster. It was black, hulking figure, towering over him by at least a foot. It was hard to make out with how bad the figure was flickering in and out of view, but he could at least see two large hands… and a face. A long, forlorn face that stared right at him. This must’ve been it. This was the monster he hadn’t been able to see.

The flickering stopped just long enough to see the full figure before it vanished once more. Grillby had taken a few more steps back, a hand gripped over where his heart would be if he physically had one. It was completely silent for a good minute, the only sounds were the gentle crackle of Grillby’s flames and a distant, static breathing.

A voice reached out, finally clear enough to hear.

 

"̢̹́̂H̝̰͋̈e̼͚͊̈́l̙̫͋̀ḷ̗̀̔o̫̜̎͐>͕̯̔͒"̢̛̝͛

 

It took a minute before Grillby could muster up a response, glancing around. Was it still in front of him? Had it moved? He stood up straight again, but remained tense. “...Hello..” He whispered in return. His voice was always soft, but he was understandably more anxious than usual.

And then the voice was behind him.

 

"̛̳̺̑D̢̺͑͝ĭ̮̻̄ḓ̡̓̆ ̦͇̾͘y̼̥̿̅o̱̼͒͋u̯̺͗̈ ̺͕͗͝s̢̛̮̿ę͚͆͌e̦̼̒͝ ̧̟́̚m̪̻̀͗ḗ̡̢?͓͈̉͗"͔̼̀͝

 

Grillby tensed as he felt a hand on his shoulder, gently digging its fingers into the suit vest. He glanced over, only to see the faintest image of the monster at his side. He nodded slowly. “What…” Was this an appropriate question to ask? “...What are you?”

The figure flickered; its unusually wide smile seemed to falter. Its hand retreated away, and much to his own surprise Grillby was reaching out to stop it. “Please, don’t.” He shook his head. “Don’t be scared.” Don’t be scared? He was the scared one here. His hand landed on something solid, and he wasn’t sure what it was but he took hold of it anyway. The figure flinched, but it didn’t shy away this time.

 

"̩͔̿͛A͈͉͒͆ ̠͎͂̏m̤͚̆̏ȏ͓̱̂n̘̯̅̀s̢̮̀́ṯ̢̾̇ê̡̪͌r͖͉̆͑.̪̰̓̀"͚̲́̔

 

That didn’t strike him as odd at all. They were all monsters here. He nodded once more, loosening his grip on what he was assuming was its arm. “So am I,” he murmured. Well, at least there was something that they had in common. It was becoming much more visible now, and he realized he’d been looking at its shoulders instead of its face. It was a lot taller than he previously thought.

“Do… you have a name?”

"̤̬́̉G̦̙̋͝a̢͈͋̄s̪̫̊͂t͇̆͜͠ȅ̟͜͝r͈͎̄͐.̥̝́͛"̢͉̿͠

 

It sounded like an oddly familiar name, but he brushed that thought away. He heard a lot of different names from customers. “Mine’s Grillby.” He hesitated for a second, very unsure what to do in this kind of situation… does he offer a handshake? Does he ask it if it wants any coffee? Perhaps he should stop thinking of his new friend as ‘it’...

“You can stay here,” he said suddenly. “If you have nowhere to go.”

 

"͍̗̽͛T̟̯̆̆h̞̱̓́a͇̭̍͠n̤̼͂͑k̪͖̓̈ ̦̝̇́ÿ̯̻́́ó̱͕͘u̦͓͂́.̛͇̐͜"̞͉̊̇

 

“Make yourself at home.” He pushed his sleeves up a little more, stepping over towards the sink. “I.. need to clean.”

Gaster’s image dimmed out again, but he recognized what looked like a nod.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaster no longer speaks in zalgo, but his voice still has that static effect. It's just a matter of Grillby having gotten used to deciphering his speech.

Gaster proved to be a rather respectful tenant.

He didn't make any messes, he was hardly ever in the way, and he was quiet. The last part was most important to Grillby. He liked keeping a quiet space to work after hours, save for if Sans came by for short conversation. It wasn't that he didn't like talking, it was that he wasn't always the best conversationalist. He wasn't the best with words. Luckily, Gaster didn't mind much. He didn't mind the short, sometimes wordless, answers. Grillby was also pleasantly surprised to discover that not only could Gaster speak, but he spoke really well. He seemed to be an educated monster. 

The giant monster wasn't always visible. He surely kept himself hidden during business hours, and when the place was closed he was still only flickers here and there. When asked why this was, he'd simply shrug, mutter a half-answer, then quickly change the topic of conversation. Grillby didn't feel the need to pry too hard; he understood that not everything could be shared.

“Do you like living here?” Gaster asked one evening from one of the barstools. Grillby had gotten a lot more used to the static that seemed to cover his words, finding them a lot easier to understand.

The flame flickered, followed by a small nod. “It's nice.”

“Isn't it cold?”

He made a small noise of amusement. “Yes. That's why I like it.”

Gaster fell silent at that, contemplating something. He took a few fries and held them in his hand while he ate. One of them fell through the hole in his hand. After a moment he murmured, “But you're hot…” And coughed suddenly, “--I mean, a being made of fire should like the heat. Right?”

“Should. It's dull. The cold is more.. intense.” He leaned his elbows on the counter, arms crossed.

“You like the intensity?” 

Grillby’s response was a noncommittal flicker of his flames. He wasn’t exactly sure what the question was implying, but he wasn’t going to give a yes or no. Gaster accepted this, nodding and eating another fry. He finished the basket, pushing it forward a little. He waited for Grillby to reach for the basket before abruptly grabbing his wrist. The flame rose by a good feet as he froze up.

“....Gaster,” he said carefully, quietly, unsure if this had any bad intentions or not. The long, bony fingers gently slid up his wrist, taking a hold of his arm. They lingered there with a firm grip. Grillby let out a coughing noise. “Gaster.”

The hand retreated away with an apologetic mutter. The flames almost immediately died down, but he could see that the flame man was still on edge. Gaster’s smile somehow widened. “Sorry.” He watched the fry basket get whisked away as Grillby retreated down to the far side of the bar. “...It looks painful.”

“It’s not.”

Gaster squinted, spotting the faintest spark of blue on Grillby’s face. “What is it, then?”

This question went ignored, unfortunately. Grillby turned and disappeared into the kitchen. The sound of the faucet turning on and the gentle hiss of steam told him that the conversation was over.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

“And then I told him.. heh, I told him, ‘tibia-honest, he couldn’t bone one if he tried’!” Sans slapped his knee, racked with gut-busting laughter. Grillby shook his head slowly, highly disappointed. The skeleton wiped a nonexistent tear from under his eyes.

“Heh heh.. heh.” The laughter died down a little, though his grin was strong as ever. He’d expected something more like a chuckle out of ol’ Grillby today… but none to be found. He tilted his head back. “You okay there, bud?”

Grillby looked up briefly. “I’m fine.” He looked back down at the glass he was cleaning. There was a light pressure on his back.

“Reeeally?” Sans leaned forward on the bar. “You seem pretty distracted lately, bud. Maybe you should take some days off?”

He got a firm shake of the head. “No.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Something got you all hot n bothered?”

Somewhere behind them, there was an audible but static snort of laughter. Sans perked up like a dog who’d just heard a whistle. His grin lowered. “What was that?”

Grillby glanced over his shoulder. “...Probably something shifting in the kitchen.”

Sans, of course, did not believe him. “Grillby, something’s going on here..” It just didn’t feel right. The fire man still shook his head. He could feel Gaster retreating, probably off to the back of the restaurant. Something tugged in the back of Grillby’s mind that he should go see if he was alright, but another part of him was silently bubbling up a pot of concern over how Sans reacted. Considering how the large monster had found his way to the restaurant in the first place… 

The skeleton let the silence settle for a moment. Grillby was keeping something from him. “Well,” he murmured, “Just let me know if you need anything buddy.”

The flames softly crackled. Sans slid out of his seat and picked up his plate of fries before shuffling out the door. He spared one last glance at Grillby, who was intently striding back into the kitchen. For once in his life, there was nearly a frown on Sans’ face. What was back there? What was he keeping?

Sans set the fries down on a table as he left, immediately turning around the corner of Grillby’s pub and heading for the back.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

“You must be more careful,” Grillby was sighing, nervously straightening his vest. He was nervously pacing the kitchen, crackling like a firecracker about to go off.

Gaster was in view by his side, offering yet another apology. He knew this wasn’t going to help at all, having dealt with very nervous people before, but it was better than saying nothing. “Grillby,” he tried to console him, watching him go back and forth across the tile, “It’s fine.. he doesn’t seem like he’d look into it too much…” 

“How much do you know about him?” Grillby mumbled, shaking his head. After all, Sans was the reason that Gaster had come to the restaurant anyway. It was dawning on him that perhaps there were some questions he should have asked in the beginning. A few minutes of pacing and the crackling of fire passed. “..Did he send you here?” Well, no. Sans wouldn’t have acted so worried. He was an honest guy.

He stopped dead in his tracks, feeling suddenly weighted down. Gaster had taken a hold of his shoulders, moving to stand in front of him. The hands had Grillby feeling fairly grounded. "I came here of my own will." He looked up and saw the wide frown that was plaguing the monster’s face, feeling a weight in his throat. Perhaps Gaster really wasn’t in on some plan… He absentmindedly reached up and placed his hand over the skeletal ones on his shoulder. He could feel his flames dying down slightly. When it came to his anxiety, it was rarely ever a slow burn. It was quick to light up and even quicker to extinguish.

Grillby felt silly. This wasn't anything to worry about. No.. at least he hadn't actually seen Gaster. 

“....I get anxious,” he murmured.

“It’s understandable,” Gaster nodded. “It’ll be fine.”

“He’ll probably just go home and sleep it off,” Grillby sighed. He was about to let go and head back into the front when he heard a noise from the back of the kitchen. His head whipped up towards the sound of the squeaking door. If he wasn’t made of fire, he would have turned as pale as death itself.

As pale as the small skeleton that was standing in the back doorway, staring at the scene in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> B)


End file.
